


Playing by Ear

by peroxideblonde



Category: Hannibal (TV), Hannibal Lecter Series - All Media Types
Genre: Abigail's ear, Angst, BDSM, Body Horror, Cannibalism, Crimes & Criminals, Drug-Induced Sex, Drugged Sex, Hannibal Lecter is a Cannibal, Implied/Referenced Drug Use, M/M, Medicinal Drug Use, Mental Health Issues, Mental Instability, NSFW, Neurological Disorders, Non-Consensual Drug Use, Non-Consensual Oral Sex, Oral Fixation, Oral Sex, Rough Oral Sex, Sexual Tension, Sleep, Slow Build, Stalking, Unresolved Sexual Tension, anti-NMDA receptor encephalitis, i guess, it's a metaphor, sleeping
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-08-17
Updated: 2018-08-17
Packaged: 2019-06-28 20:52:18
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,787
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15714870
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/peroxideblonde/pseuds/peroxideblonde
Summary: I can’t be the only one who found that flashback scene of Hannibal feeding Will Abigail’s ear erotic.Can I?Exam soon so no edits, just pure stream-of-consciousness sociopathic smut (^_<)〜☆





	Playing by Ear

**Author's Note:**

> (It's a metaphor.)

Drugging Will had been easy, from a technical perspective: intranasal midazolam while he tossed during one of his usual sheet-soaking, chest-heaving, sleep-walking nights. Will could sleep through five miles of barefoot stumbling down a highway; he could doze peacefully with an applicator the size of a pen cap inserted into his nostrils in turn, with some fentanyl for good measure.

From a moral perspective, Hannibal was damned, but he had resigned himself to that fate years ago. He knew it as a boy when he learnt he had eaten Mischa to survive, and he knew it the first night he kept watch on Will from outside his bedroom window.

It was to observe the natural history of anti-NMDA receptor encephalitis, Hannibal had told himself when he perched outside Will’s bedroom window and observed Will walk as though in a daze from the bathroom into his bedroom, having apparently forgotten to dry himself before dressing in a t-shirt and a pair of boxers that clung to his dripping skin. For science, Hannibal thought, as he perused a worn work of Sartre’s, occasionally looking up to peer through the glass and check on the wretched object of his attentions.

Object. Will, reduced to a mere improper noun: will, want, desire.

Will asleep was like no other. Awake, he was deliciously vulnerable; loosely curling hair framing his perpetually tired face, doe eyes, smooth skin, always stubble on his chin but never a full beard or totally clean shaven, as though he was deliberately disheveled. In the throes of slumber, these endearing traits were magnified manifold, and to them added plush, gently parted lips that occasionally mumbled something, and, sometimes, what tumbled past them with feverish urgency, as Will twisted in the sheets and perspired from every pore, “Hannibal”. Not a shout, but a whisper, for Hannibal could not hear his name though his breath fogged the glass of Will’s window, but he could read the syllables, see Will tasting him but feel nothing of that pink tongue caressing him the way it fondled his name in the dead of night.

It was rare that Hannibal felt something for his victims. He was the writer and director, and everyone else mere actors, performing his scripts more or less as transcribed. However, Hannibal had to admit he felt some level of…trepidation…when he slipped into Will’s home one night, graduating from voyeur to burglar, having pre-emptively silenced Will’s pack of dogs with acepromazine in their food the preceding day.

Hannibal stood in the doorway of Will’s room for several long minutes as he watched Will sleep in silence. He held his breath whenever Will’s breathing became more laboured, when it seemed as though, even if only for a second, he might say Hannibal’s name. Hannibal was awarded nothing for his patience, and so, after a time, he stalked in muted stocking feet across the room to Will’s bedside. Hannibal knelt and gazed for a moment at Will’s defenseless sleeping face, his nostrils quivering slightly with every inhalation and exhalation, his sweet scent, the scent of his steadily worsening illness, rich to Hannibal’s keen senses and not overpowered by Will’s intrinsic woodsy aroma.

As he still quietly contemplated Will’s passive face, Hannibal inserted the midazolam applicator into Will’s nose. It was vulgar, Hannibal thought vaguely, and then administered the medication through one nostril and then the other, five milligrams in each, followed by one hundred fifty micrograms of fentanyl.

Will snorted, spraying some of the medication from his mucosa, but not enough to dampen its effect. Conscious sedation was all Hannibal required, and he knew he had given Will more than enough, since his mind was already fractured. Will’s eyes fluttered open. For a moment, his unsteady gaze flitted over Hannibal’s face, and there was a flash of recognition. Then Will closed his eyes again and nestled deeper into his pillows.

“Will,” Hannibal said softly. “Time to get up now.” He took Will by the upper arms and guided him to a seated position. Will’s bony shoulders sagged into Hannibal’s palms as Will hung his head, hair falling in his eyes. He was shaking with the exertion of sitting upright. “I have something for you in the kitchen.”

Plastic-wrapped was how Hannibal touched Will that night, his cells encased in a full-body condom as he put a leading arm around Will’s waist and half-carried him to the kitchen, where an assortment of objects unusual in the average US household awaited them: a size 9.0 endotracheal tube, an intubation stylet, a can of lidocaine spray, a laryngoscope (just in case), and a human ear.

“Sit,” Hannibal said, and he lowered a highly suggestable Will to the floor. Will slumped against the cabinets and waited for Hannibal. His half-lidded gaze trailed Hannibal as Hannibal organized his accessories. The unquestioning trust glowing in Will’s otherwise dull and drugged eyes made Hannibal pause. He crouched in front of Will, whose head dipped lower to follow Hannibal’s change in altitude.

“Shh,” Hannibal said needlessly, a hand against Will’s cheek. He thought perhaps he intended the comforting shush more for his inner voices than for Will’s silence. Will, like a loyal dog, tipped his head into Hannibal’s palm. Hannibal found himself irked by the thin layer of plastic separating their skin; he could feel Will’s (pathological) warmth, but none of his softness. Something like a whimper escaped Will’s mouth. The sound, which made Hannibal’s abdomen clench, startled Hannibal from his lapse. He released Will, stood, and took the endotracheal tube from the counter.

Hannibal positioned himself over Will so that Will was on his knees, his back to Hannibal, his head tilted against Hannibal’s upper thighs, lordosis exaggerated. The deep curve of his lower spine made Hannibal bite his lip unconsciously. “Open up,” Hannibal instructed a moment later. Will obeyed. Hannibal took the bottle of lidocaine spray from Will’s countertop, then, with a depression of his thumb, spritzed the back of Will’s throat. Will, unlike most people, swallowed easily, sending the numbing agent down his throat in a bolus of saliva and sodium channel blocker.

Before changing careers and training in psychiatry, Hannibal had been a surgeon. It was for this reason (and, admittedly, his culinary interests) his knowledge of human anatomy far outranked even the most versatile psychiatrist’s. As part of his surgical residency, Hannibal had done rotations in anaesthesia and emergency medicine, two specialties where intubation skills were paramount. Now, as he passed the endotracheal tube past Will’s teeth and deliberately threaded it far under his epiglottis and into his oesophagus, bypassing his trachea, Hannibal thought he would make a very poor anaesthesiologist indeed. 

Putting Will under conscious sedation was a mere courtesy, really. Hannibal usually preferred his victims awake.

Will gagged on the thick plastic tube making its way down his throat despite the lidocaine spray, his body bucking against Hannibal’s legs, his warm occiput grinding into the front of Hannibal’s trousers. The muscles of his arms were tensed so that the appendages were rigid at his sides and his legs bent oddly beneath him. Hannibal tucked a hand under Will’s chin and held his neck in flexion as he retrieved the human ear with his free hand, pinching the still supple cartilage between his fingers and poking it into the opening of the endotracheal tube. Even through the plastic of his gloves, Hannibal could feel Will’s frantically pulsing internal carotid artery, strong, resistant, and his internal jugular vein, sluggish, compressible. Will’s Adam’s apple bobbed as he attempted to swallow around the tube. Hannibal always thought of humans as wonderfully fragile beings, but this reminder of Will’s mortal frailty was unwelcome.

“Shh,” Hannibal repeated to himself.

There was a light pressure on Hannibal’s wrist. He glanced toward it and saw Will’s fingertips pressing against it as though to push Hannibal’s hand from Will’s neck, but Will’s strength was one hundredth of its usual power, and the effect was little more than a nudge.

Will’s eyes, desperate and seeking, met Hannibal’s. Will gagged forcefully, flailing, the sounds and sensations of his revolting body like something from a recent dream.

“Shh.” Hannibal restrained Will as easily as he would a small, uncoordinated child. “Behave yourself, Will. It’s almost over.”

Will emitted more choked, gasping noises, eyes watering, curls plastered to his brow. For a moment, it appeared he was trying to speak around the obstructing tube jutting obscenely from his drooling mouth, but then he fell silent once more.  

Hannibal took the stylet and used it to push the ear down the length of the tube, deep into Will’s oesophagus. Will, eyes rolling, heaved; Hannibal pulled the tube from Will’s throat and cast it aside, doing his best to calm Will and let the peristaltic contractions of his oesophagus guide the ear to Will’s stomach. There was the risk of Will vomiting or regurgitating the ear too early, but midazolam had as a side effect antiemetic properties, hopefully enough to overcome fentanyl’s nauseating side effects. Hannibal sat behind Will and then dragged him into his lap. He caressed Will’s sweaty, distressed face in a placating manner, and he knew he could calm Will enough to avoid regurgitation as well.

Will panted and twitched in Hannibal’s arms, pouting, his tongue pressed against his lower teeth as he rocked rhythmically, trying to sputter something…

“Rest, Will, you’re unwell.”

“Sorry.”

Only Will would apologize for not being a complacent victim. Hannibal could not fight the small smile that spread from his mouth to his eyes, nor could he stifle the swell of excitement rising within him. Perhaps it was not in spite of Will’s weakness that Hannibal took to him, but because of it.    

There was something distinctly homoerotic in the encounter, Hannibal thought as he watched a tear streak down Will’s cheek. Hannibal wiped it with a thumb encased in plastic, wishing he could lick it from Will’s face instead, but not wanting to leave behind saliva. Saliva, like the trickles at the corners of Will’s mouth… Hannibal wiped those away as well, with a greater impulse to taste than what he had felt when he touched Will’s tear.

Will, weak and intoxicated, half-knelt, half-lay in Hannibal’s loose embrace as Hannibal stroked his hair. It had been some forty years since Hannibal last felt regret. It was an unfamiliar burn, now, somewhere behind his xiphoid process, like indigestion, nauseating, nagging.

“I’m the one who’s sorry,” Hannibal murmured. Deriving gratification from a psychotic, drugged, combative partner was the epitome of rudeness. Will deserved better.

Eyes closed, Will shook his head and fingered the front of Hannibal’s plastic suit. A hoarse, trembling-lipped vibrato string of syllables fell from Will’s violated mouth: “Hannibal”.

Hannibal carried Will back to bed after that. 

**Author's Note:**

> If you want more casual things (Will's seizure, Hannibal strung up on a pool deck, Hannibal getting beaten by any number of people, Will having his skull sawed, etc.) made erotic, hmu yo ♡ (⇀ 3 ↼)


End file.
